


Breaking Walls

by otapocalypse



Series: The Cure to All Ailments [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Caring, Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Sickfic, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otapocalypse/pseuds/otapocalypse
Summary: Otabek made a dumb decision and now has a cold. Who better to care for him than Yuri?





	Breaking Walls

Otabek hadn’t spoken a word all night. That was the first clue that something was wrong. He would usually stir at around 4 or 5 am, an ungodly hour as far as Yuri was aware, and whisper something about taking a piss or feeding Potya. Still, being woken up before the sun wasn’t exactly appealing, and so he slept on, oblivious to the fact that beside him, Otabek did the same. The heat rolling off his boyfriend’s body was what woke him up, and was the second clue. Disgruntled, Yuri huffed and scoffed and finally rolled away from Otabek, kicking off the covers while he was at it. “Oi,” he grumbled, finally turning to face the other. “You’re burning up. I’m suffering.” No answer. The third clue, as Otabek _always_ answered him. Worried now, Yuri sat up, watching Otabek’s sleeping form for a moment before crawling over and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” he murmured, gently shaking the other. Otabek’s breath stuttered, and his dark eyes slowly peeled open and focused on Yuri. Even in the washed-out, dim lighting, Yuri could make out a slight flush across the other’s face and a glazed look to his eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out and put his hand on Otabek’s forehead. “Jesus, Otabek. You’re burning up.” He got only a groggy blink as an answer, and his own eyes narrowed. “I told you that outing yesterday was a bad idea. You remember? You’d left your scarf at home?” The day before, they’d had some rare time off, during which Otabek had insisted, against every rational argument Yuri could come up with, that they fill that time with even more skating. 

Yuri had a feeling his very rational and compelling arguments would have won out on their way back to the trolley, but as fate would have it, at that very moment, they had passed by a public outdoor rink and Otabek’s stupid face had lit up with so much childish glee that Yuri had had a hard time saying no. And so, after an hour and a half of skating around outside without a scarf and eight hours of sleep indoors, apparently, Otabek had gotten himself sick. With an exaggerated sigh that covered up how worried he actually was, Yuri leaned over and switched on the tiny lamp they kept in the room, scrubbing at his eyes with a fist. “Hold on. If you get out of this bed, I’ll kick your ass. I don’t care if you’ve got the damn flu.”

With that, he jumped out of bed still in his nightclothes, padding across the floor like a cat and gradually turning on all the lights as he went. Habit, he told himself. He glanced at the clock as he rifled through the medicine in the pantry- 7:13. He swore under his breath and grabbed a few different bottles, as well as a glass of water, and made his way back into the bedroom. Otabek was sitting up now, looking at him with misty eyes that squinted at him through the light in the room. Yuri set the pills and the water on a side table and glared, hands going to his hips as he raised an eyebrow at the man. Otabek’s voice was scratchy when he answered. “At least I didn’t get out of the bed.” 

“Don’t care. This still counts as exerting yourself.” Yuri snarked back, turning dismissively and starting to pour a few pills out onto the counter. Otabek pressed further, “How could I take the meds if I didn’t sit up first?” Yuri began to answer, his pointer finger raised, when he stopped, his jaw snapping shut as he turned away again. “Fair point.” He admitted. “But your incessant need to backtalk is a form of wasting energy.” He turned back, smirking and presenting the glass of water for Otabek to take. “Nice try though.” Otabek, with a complacent smile, went quiet and obediently took his medicine, wincing as the pills scraped against his sore throat as they went down. He let out an exasperated sigh as he flopped back down into the sheets, casting a pitiful look up at Yuri. “I feel gross.”

Yuri sat at the edge of the bed, scooting closer to once more feel Otabek’s forehead, gently running a hand through his sweaty hair after. “I’d say so. Your fever must have broke in the middle of the night.” He tugged the blanket away from Otabek’s body, which the other responded to with a slight shiver and curling back up. Yuri felt a stab of guilt. “I know. It’ll be over soon.” He then took a deep breath- this was going to be hard- and reached down, gathering Otabek up in his arms and lifting. Otabek stayed limp, complete trust in Yuri’s actions governing his own, but as their eyes met, both pairs widened in surprise as nothing catastrophic happened- no struggle, or err, or fall. Yuri allowed himself to be stunned for a moment before he smirked down at the man in his arms, as if he’d been able to lift Otabek this whole time, and turned to walk into the bathroom.

“Broken.” Otabek mumbled as he sat on the lid of the toilet. Yuri turned from where he was running the hot water and arched one of his perfect brows. “What?” Otabek blinked slowly at him. “Earlier, you said my fever must have broke during the night. The word you meant was brok _en._ ” Yuri didn’t answer for a moment, pure disbelief running through him before he turned back to the tub. “I cannot believe this. You’re sick enough to be carried to the bathroom-”

“I could’ve walked-”

“And you are correcting me on my grammar.” He let out a mock huff of frustration. “Unbelievable, Altin. Hurry up and strip.” Otabek, despite his various aches and pains, managed his own very dramatic eye-roll, noticed but ignored by Yuri, before he began struggling out of his clothes, grimacing as they clung to his skin, still soaked in sweat. “Gross,” he muttered, finally dropping his boxers onto the floor and toeing them off to the side. At the tub, Yuri had managed to fill it about halfway, and Otabek tilted his head. “Not a shower?”

“I don’t trust you to stand and not get dizzy,” Yuri answered without looking up. “And before you ask-” he added as Otabek opened his mouth again, “No, I will not be joining you. I will be washing that greasy mop on top of your head you call hair.” That earned a pout and a mumble of, “But you love my hair,” that also went ignored. Once in the bath, Otabek went quiet once more and submitted to Yuri’s care, letting the other gently massage shampoo into his hair, sighing contentedly when Yuri’s nails ran over his scalp. He only realized he was leaning into the touch when Yuri muttered, “I’m glad you like this but you’re making it very difficult to get to every part of your scalp.” He mumbled a hasty apology and straightened back up, giving another content sigh and letting his eyes close once again, though he made a conscious effort to stay upright this time.

He opened his eyes again as he sensed movement, watching as Yuri grabbed the showerhead and switched it on, placing a hand on his forehead to keep the shampoo out of his eyes as he began to soak Otabek’s hair. Otabek had to repress another shiver as the stream hit the shaved part of his scalp and sent pleasant tingles down his spine, only making him relax further into the bath. As Yuri began finishing up with the water, he teased quietly, “Please, no scented conditioners that you have to leave in for twenty minutes.” It could have been his imagination, but Yuri’s laugh sounded almost guilty. “No, not this time,” was all the other said, and he let it go.

Once he was out of the bath and into clean clothes, Otabek began to feel achy and cold again, going to burrow back under the blankets as Yuri took his turn in the shower, and called Yakov to inform him his star skaters wouldn’t be coming in for practice that day. The yelling match over the phone would’ve been amusing, if a headache hadn’t chosen that moment to start pounding in Otabek’s skull. Still, he had to admit, it seemed Yuri was trying to keep his own voice down, which Otabek was immensely grateful for. He tried to express the sentiment to Yuri once he returned to the bed, but all that came out were sleepy, unintelligible mumbles. “Go back to sleep.” Yuri whispered, carding his fingers through Otabek’s hair. “It’s still another few hours until you can take those pills again. I’ll be right here.”

That was an order that was hard to ignore, and before he knew it Otabek was blinking awake again, the fuzz in his head clearing and allowing him to register that Yuri had not, in fact, kept his promise. He reached out and felt the Yuri-shaped indent on the other side of the bed; still warm. He sighed, sensing calling out would be a bad idea, if the pain in his throat was anything to go by. He didn’t want to worry his boyfriend either; he recalled the time he’d called Yuri’s name from the kitchen, prompting the other to panic and race in half-dressed, demanding which knife he’d cut himself on. It hadn’t taken long to reassure Yuri he was fine and had only been looking for a pan, but the fearful look in those green eyes still haunted him. So, he closed his eyes and lay still for a few minutes more, looking up as Yuri came in, a steaming bowl in his hands.

Otabek’s face turned questioning as he watched a blush spread its way across Yuri’s face. “I thought you’d like some soup… grandpa would always make it for me when I was sick and stop looking at me like that!” He scoffed, setting the soup on the side table and once more shaking out a couple of pills from their respective bottles. The dopey, lovestruck look on Otabek’s face was soon replaced with his trademark fond smile, the one only Yuri earned, and he sat up and began making his way through the bowl of soup, letting the warmth soothe his throat and inching closer to Yuri when the other sat beside him.

Halfway through his meal, Otabek let the spoon clink back into the bowl and leaned into Yuri with a very uncharacteristic whine. Yuri’s tone was firm but not cold as one hand snaked up to rub at the nape of Otabek’s neck. “You should finish it.” He murmured. “You won’t have what you need to get better otherwise.” Otabek didn’t answer, just nuzzled closer, seeking the coolness of Yuri’s skin. “It’s hot.” Was all he said, earning a look. He pulled back for a moment, worried he’d said something wrong, before Yuri turned to face him, cupping Otabek’s face in his hands and gently pressing his palms to Otabek’s face. “Better?” Otabek stared, feeling his chest starting to tighten. _He really does love me._ The thought hit him like a brick wall- memories of Yuri shouting and yelling and being short when frustrated contrasting with memories of the way he’d cuddle with Potya, or offer a reluctant smile to a shy child, or quickly reaching out when his grandfather missed a step, then quickly pulling back as if not to wound the elder’s pride. 

The Ice Tiger, he liked to present himself as. Fierce and alone and cold, when really he had this bubble around himself- or a wall, more like. Those he let in, Yuri would study them, learn what kind of care they needed, and adapt accordingly. And he was, Otabek realized, a part of this. He’d been let past the gates, on Yuri’s own choice, and he wasn’t ever going to be booted back out into the cruel, lonely world. He had to gulp back tears then, despite the pain it caused, as he looked into those green eyes, hiding concern and care and yes, love, behind a slightly exasperated look that was slowly curling into a smile. Otabek let out a shaky breath, exhausted yet knowing he should say something. Finally, he simply settled on, “Thank you.”


End file.
